


"I Told You, I'm Fine, Damn It!"

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:03:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Garrison gets a recurrence of his malaria, a souvenir of his stint in North Africa, but tries to hide his condition from the guys and everyone else, not really wanting even a short tour under a doctor's care.  Considering the symptoms included nausea, headache, muscle aches, profuse sweating, fever and chills, bouts of delirium, oh, and the occasional loss of consciousness, that wasn't so easy.  Also, probably not such a great idea as evidenced by that set of reports he writes up.  Thankfully, Gil Rawlins is there to help sort things out, with a little help from the guys, and gets something typed up that won't give HQ a nervous breakdown.  Afterwards Garrison looks at the original ones he wrote up, and really does want to faint.  Some things were scary enough to remember; to see them written down?   Absolutely terrifying!  And wasn't there some faint recollection about a plane ride?





	"I Told You, I'm Fine, Damn It!"

**Author's Note:**

> A story told mostly in reverse - it's just better that way sometimes! Of course, Craig Garrison would just as soon you didn't tell the story at all. Please??

AFTERMATH:

"'E's fine, Major."

Major Richards looked at the exasperated-looking little man in sheer disbelief, the blond pickpock standing with his legs spread, his arms folded across his chest looking up at Richards now, though his pale blue eyes had previously been focused on the limp figure on the floor.

"Goniff, he's unconscious!"

"Ei, there you go, Major, bringing logic into it. 'E TOLD us 'e was fine, didn't need to go lay down, didn't want us asking 'im again, right firm about that 'e was, right before 'e passed out. Passed out AGAIN, I mean. Now, w'at are we supposed to believe, the one w'at's in charge, or our own ruddy uneducated non-officer-type eyes? Thought you was military and all! Tsk, tsk! Not quite w'at I'd expect from an officer!"

Actor and Casino, busy getting Garrison up off the floor, just rolled their eyes, though whether that was directed at the stubborn man they were trying to lift, the bewildered British major, or the annoying little Cockney, who knows.

SEVERAL DAYS BEFORE:

Gil Rawlins, Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins read the sheaf of papers in his hand once again. He shook his head briskly, trying to clear it, wondering if he'd taken a fall on the obstacle course, if one of the mis-aims at the Firing Range had come a little too close. What he was reading just made no sense! Yet, Lieutenant Garrison had handed it to him just like he did any of the other reports to be typed, with a distracted smile and a brisk nod.

Some of the handwriting was clear enough; the Lieutenant had a good clear firm hand with the pen. Other parts, well, it looked like a man with a palsy had written them. And a few paragraphs, scattered here and there? Giving a sparrow a pen and ink would have gotten as good a result, possibly better. The problem was, even the parts he could read, they made no bloody sense, or at least they'd better not make any sense. If any of this was right, Garrison would most likely be in the Stockade, or already cashiered! Just how the bloody hell was he supposed to type this??

He thought about asking the Lieutenant, but Garrison didn't seem in all that good a frame of mind at the time, hadn't taken the news of the guys' latest little escapade all that well at all. Made some very nasty threats he had, though Rawlins had to admit the guys hadn't seemed all that concerned.

He sighed, "I guess I'll sort out w'at I can and maybe ask the others to 'elp me make some sense of the rest," he told himself. He had the uneasy feeling that asking the men for 'help' wasn't likely to make things any clearer, but it was worth a try. That one sentence he caught a fast glimpse of, "nah, no way the Lieutenant would 'ave told Major Cartwright THAT! 'Ave to be reading it wrong! No bloody way I'm putting THAT in a report!"

A WEEK PRIOR:

Garrison woke aching in every part of his body and with a truly vile headache. If he'd gotten drunk with the team the night before he would have suspected a hangover.

Frankly, he wished he HAD gotten drunk with the team the night before, (though he never did, of course - just saying!) instead of spending it smiling politely at Major Kevin Richards and a half dozen assorted other officers and companions at Major Belding's little party at Belding's private residence. No Base Officers' Club for this little group, oh no. He'd been the only one without a 'companion', and that hadn't helped, especially after that rather brazen redhead that arrived with Kevin Richards made such a blatant approach, and although Richards took it with amazing equinimity, almost amusement, enough Garrison was sure there was no real interest there, a couple of the other officers got a little territorial about their own females. And the women had started eyeing each other with a little animosity as well, and frankly the tall redhead had gotten downright nasty about him refusing to accept her coy invitation for a 'quiet little stroll around the gardens; there's a little gazebo that you might enjoy! In fact, I guarantee you will!' And that damned giggle had just about made him want to throw up.

Though maybe that had been from the hors d'oeuvres; even Goniff would have passed on those. Well, no, maybe not, considering their resident pickpocket actually considered K-rations edible. That thrown cherry martini the no-longer-giggling female had retaliated with was going to require his uniform being sent out for repair; it had just come back from the laundry so Rawlins was going to give him a very uncomfortable look.

He pulled his mind away from such trivialities and back to the night before and the invitation; well, invitations - plural - as it were. Well, maybe once upon a time he would have enjoyed that long-legged redhead AND the gazebo, though not once he'd figured out one of the two was the property of a fellow officer (maybe both!). And he just didn't think a gazebo in England in February was all that appealing anyway.

And she had green eyes, the redhead. Not that there was anything wrong with that; he had green eyes himself. Yet, he found himself with a fondness for blue eyes these days, though he couldn't have said why. Oh, he was beginning to figure out why, but he had no intention of admitting that even to himself and he sure as hell wouldn't have SAID why! That way lay insanity and Garrison had dug his heels in on the side of 'Sanity' and intended to keep a firm hold. Anything else would just be insane! He stopped and rethought that sentence, that series of sentences that had passed through his mind, and groaned to himself, making his head hurt even worse.

No, as much as he would have preferred this be a good old-fashioned hangover, earned in the usual way, he thought this was probably the beginning of a malarial relapse. They did tend to hit him out of the blue, though maybe the onset was part of why he'd been so out of sorts last night, not as charmingly polite in his refusals as he could have been.

He rubbed the side of his face, remembering that hard slap he'd gotten from the blonde he'd rejected rather abruptly - she had brown eyes, he seemed to remember. And he wasn't all too sure the blond hair had been real; it seemed a little too brassy, not pale and soft hued like blond hair should be. Well, he seemed to have misplaced his charm during that little encounter, so maybe he'd earned that slap. The comparison he'd made between her, or was it the suggestion he'd made - well, to the best of his foggy recollection, it had involved her and that large spaniel of Belding's, the one that insisted on performing repeated indignities on Garrison's leg.

He swallowed suddenly, and dashed for the bathroom, reaching it just in time. He wasn't sure if that was part of the malaria, or his remembering Belding's parting words; if he remembered correctly, they hadn't been all that friendly.

Later, relating part of that to Actor, he had the dubious pleasure of seeing the tall sophisticated man actually choke on his drink. "You actually suggested she . . . Craig, I think perhaps you should just forego any social engagements for awhile. You seem to have lost the knack for the little give-and-take of polite conversation. Are you sure you are feeling quite well? That does seem to have been rather, well, harsh."

Garrison snorted, sipping at his drink, trying to ignore the uncomfortable burn as it went down, "there was not one damned thing 'polite' about the conversation, Actor. Though from the rather speculative look in her eye, Belding might want to put that spaniel of his under guard; she actually looked interested!"

Actor frowned with concern; there was nothing about what Garrison was relating, anything about this conversation that seemed particularly, well, LIKE the young officer. While he was nowhere as stiff as Major Richards, who really did seem to carry the concept to extremes, still. Though, for Kevin Richards to have been PRESENT at that little gathering, maybe that hinted that he wasn't quite so straight-laced as they'd thought.

Gil Rawlings sighed once again. He'd tackled the easier parts first, gotten them lined out on his note pad. The words had been legible, the meaning less so, and he had applied to Actor for assistance yet again.

"So, 'e says you infiltrated the German encampment posing as a ponce? With the Lieutenant being your French brothel? That seems a bit, well, off, if you don't mind my saying so. 'Ardly seems the kind of personage who'd be likely to fit it, and seems kind of slim pickings for a brothel, just one, you know. And I can't 'ardly imagine the Lieutenant . . ."

Actor shook his head, already having gone through a few of these queries, none of them making the slightest bit of sense. {"What on earth is wrong with Craig??"}.

"What, Sergeant Major? Let me see that . . . Well, yes, that does appear to be what it says, quite clearly in fact. But, actually, no, Sergeant Major. I was impersonating a PRIEST, with the Lieutenant going in as a junior FRANCISCAN BROTHER. Was there anything else you required assistance with?"

"Thank you, no, not right now. There's w'ole sections I aint made out yet, but I'm sure there'll be more coming up. 'Ave to tell you, not a lot of this makes any bloody sense," and the frustration in his voice was more than evident.

Well, Actor had to agree, if the examples laid before him so far were representative. 

Gil was still working on sorting out the reports when Garrison and the team were called on to do a training flight with a tandem jump. Garrison winced, being pretty sure a plane ride and a parachute were NOT what his head and stomach needed right now; the morning had already seen him sweating up a storm and feeling light-headed. He determined he'd take one of those pills he'd been given the last time this had happened, just to ease things up a bit; they made him a little drowsy, but only for a short period of time; he'd be back to normal well before the time they reached the drop zone. As his stomach lurched once more, he decided, "maybe two pills, that should do the trick."

He relayed the orders on, and waited for the enthusiastic response. Which was, of course, the usual, no, more than the usual grousing from the team.

"What? We don't jump outta enough damned airplanes as it is?? They got nothin better to do??! Sheesh!"

No, none of them were happy. Still, there they were, high in the sky with a pilot who obviously had intentions of becoming a stunt pilot after the war and wanted to get in a little training of his own. Garrison and the others had watched, uneasily, as Goniff had turned first a more intense pale than usual, then gradually pale green. Chief had been the one coaching the Englishman, "breathe, Goniff, in and out, nice and steady, that's it, in and out."

It seemed to be doing the trick til Casino had made the mistake of asking Chief his opinion of their pilot's flying skills - well, okay, it hadn't been nearly that polite, but you get the idea. While Chief was otherwise occupied, Goniff had found himself getting sicker and sicker, and decided that if breathing in and out, nice and steady wasn't doing the trick, maybe he need to just put more effort into it.

It is doubtful he had ever heard the term 'hyperventilating', probably the others either, but they soon got a lovely example of one of the more dramatic, though admittedly rare, possible results. Goniff had abruptly gone from green, back to dead white, gasped, his eyes opening wide, lurched to his feet, and then forward and across the aisle into a startled Garrison's arms, out cold.

Whatever the others had expected, it hadn't been that slightly sleepy, utterly sappy smile on the Warden's face, and the gentle hand patting that ashen blond head, or that careful gathering of the limp smaller man into his lap, just like, as Casino thought later, he was a puppy or something, or those words . . . No, they weren't even going to THINK about those words! Okay, so they were having a hard time NOT thinking about those words, that crooning, lilting voice accompanied by that utterly dopey smile, his hand still patting Goniff's blond head, "such a pretty little thing, light as a feather. Just liiiiggghhhttt as a feather."

After everyone got their jaws back in place, Actor got Goniff laid out on the side bench, while Chief tried to get Garrison to stop pouting because they took the 'pretty little thing' away and Casino positioned himself so the wide-eyed pilot didn't see any more than he already had.

Luckily Goniff had come around before they got to the drop zone, so the tandem jumps hadn't gone too badly. Actor was careful to team Casino with Chief, Goniff with himself, and strongly, emphatically suggested Garrison stay in the plane with the pilot, who'd caught just a glimpse, not much but enough to look more than a little bewildered.

"I'm not sure he's feeling quite well, Craig; his flying has been rather erratic. And since you are a qualified pilot, that only makes sense."

None of them dared say a word to each other, then or later. Well, maybe later, and only the bare minimum and only because Garrison asked "what was Jeffers going on about? Something happen on the training flight?"

Actor had smoothly remarked that since Goniff had been breathing far too deeply and fainted, it was lucky that Garrison had caught him before he could do himself injury. Well, that WAS what happened, after all. Goniff they never told anything, either, except that breathing that deep just wasn't a good idea; they all made a point of watching him more carefully in the future, though, just in case. 

The guys were settled in, just laying out a hand of cards, when Rawlins walked in, those reports in his hand again.

"Just a few questions . . . ".

By the time he had finished making his notes, giving the guys some very odd looks like he wasn't sure they were giving him the real story, since some of their explanations seemed as 'off' as the odd words on the pages of Garrison's reports in front of him, Garrison himself had appeared in the doorway.

Rawlins quickly excused himself and made himself scarce, wanting to write down that little episode that ended with them in France escaping the German patrols riding double on a bunch of horses. {"Well, that's odd, acourse, but a lot better than what the Lieutenant wrote! Amazing the difference a letter or two can make to a picture sometimes!"}

Garrison frowned after the fleeing man, and turned to Actor.

"Do you think Gil is, well, okay? I've never known him to have such trouble with the reports before."

The muffled snorts and coughs and one outright raspy laugh didn't enlighten him, though Actor's reassurances at least let Garrison put the whole thing out of his mind for awhile. He wasn't feeling any too great, and the guys were getting on his last nerve, asking how he was, if he was okay. Damn it, he was fine! But they just wouldn't stop! 

"Craig, will you please go and lie down??! You look dreadful. And no matter how much you dislike the idea, tomorrow you WILL go to the doctor!"

"I'm fine, damn it! Stop fussing! I just got a little dizzy."

"You ruddy well fainted, Warden! That's a little more than getting a little dizzy!" Goniff chimed in, worried look on his face.

"I did NOT faint, I just lost my balance for a minute! I'm FINE!"

"Warden, you sure you're alright?" Chief asked, and got a highly exasperated response.

"I told you I'm fine! I don't want to go lie down. And I DON'T want anyone asking me again, is that clear??!"

Casino and Chief looked at each other and rolled their eyes. There'd been a lot of that going on recently for some reason.

Casino stooped over to pick up the broken pieces of the coffee cup that had crashed when Garrison 'lost his balance'. The young officer was now leaning his head back in the big arm chair when the guys had deposited him after picking him off the floor. Soon, though, Garrison was back on his feet, insisting on continuing with the discussion of what had gone right, what had gone wrong on that last mission. Rawlins interrupted to say Major Richards had arrived, and Garrison had turned away from his position leaning over the map, swayed, and went down like a rock. That was the scene when Richards walked in. 

FINALLY: 

Several days later, a rather subdued and more than a little chagrined Lieutenant Garrison was back in his office, reading and signing off on the reports Gil Rawlins had taken such a remarkably long time compiling. He paused, remembering just HOW long those reports had taken, and, while not wanting to offend the Sergeant Major, thought it best to see if there had been some problem he was unaware of. He knew his recollection of those days was a little hazy. 

Later, a stunned Lieutenant Garrison laid down the last of the original reports, the ones the Sergeant Major had labored over so intensely to get something worthy of being sent to HQ.

"Damn!"

He went back through the pages, to a few more noteable of the paragraphs, and could only thank his lucky stars that he'd been assigned Gil Rawlins, a man who was intelligent enough, clear headed enough not to just have transcribed those notes and forwarded them in Garrison's absence.

Rereading one of more select descriptions, he shook his head and muttered to himself, "they'd have had me in a psych unit under constant observation for sure! "We escaped the German patrols riding double on three handily-available French whores." 

The laughter was heard all the way up to the Common Room.

"Sounds like the Warden's feeling better. You gonna tell him about that 'light as a feather' business?" Chief asked Actor, causing Casino to choke on his coffee, and Goniff to look at them all with confusion in his eyes.

"W'at da ya mean? W'at 'light as a feather' business?"

"Ah, nothing, Goniff. Nothing important," Actor replied smoothly, and if Goniff wasn't convinced, well no one intended to say anything else, that's for damned sure!


End file.
